


You Can't Break That Which Isn't Yours

by arjache



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Genderqueer Character, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character, Transgender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-07
Updated: 2012-10-05
Packaged: 2017-11-13 17:48:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/506109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arjache/pseuds/arjache
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>TT: It's strange.<br/>TT: If anyone were to ask me now if I were certain I was female, then yes, of course I'd tell them I was.<br/>TT: And it would be the truth.<br/>TT: But I seem to have doubts about my certainty itself.<br/>TT: As if, having torn apart my head in order to discover an identity that fit...<br/>TT: I also voided the warranty.<br/>TG: but you got your answer right<br/>---</p><p>It's hard being a kid dealing with gender issues. It's hard and you have no idea if anyone understands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Up Late Again

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my ridiculously helpful beta readers; you rock.

## Act 1: Descend

\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 01:43 --  
TT: So, Mr. Strider, purely for the sake of research...  
TT: What was it like coming out as transgender as young as you did?  
TG: research my butt  
TG: youre just up late angsting again arent you  
TT: Maybe.  
TG: also i dont really remember  
TT: You were what, 4, right?  
TG: i guess  
TT: And in all that time you've never doubted yourself?  
TG: hell no  
TG: im dave fucking strider and thats the apex of perfection right there  
TG: genuine article  
TG: hell other folks should doubt themselves for not being named dave strider  
TG: is that why youre up  
TG: do you want to change your name to dave strider  
TG: i can sponsor you for the dave strider club  
TG: we meet on tuesdays  
TG: bring a baked good  
TT: That's more John's specialty, isn't it?  
TG: pfft dude couldnt handle being a strider  
TG: even if we got him prescription shades  
TG: its not like hed know how to wear em  
TT: And so, in your infinite wisdom, you decided to try to recruit the one friend you have who doesn't even wear glasses.  
TG: well yeah  
TG: youve transcended the need for glasses young glasshopper  
TG: holy shit did i just type glasshopper  
TG: thats awesome  
TT: Your typing prowess knows no bounds.  
TT: And I am quite happy being Rose Lalonde, thank you.  
TT: I suppose I'm just dwelling on what got me to being Rose Lalonde in the first place.  
TG: ugh  
TG: dont start in on this real girl nonsense again  
TT: All right.  
TT: So tell me then, Pinocchio.  
TT: Are you a real boy yet?  
TG: oh god dont start in with the puppet jokes either  
TT: Well then.  
TT: I suppose I'll have to go back to angsting, as you put it.  
TG: ugh fine  
TG: go for it  
TG: here let me just minimize your chat window  
TT: As you like.  
TT: The thing is, I'm not sure it's a habit I'll ever truly free myself of.  
TT: It's strange.  
TT: If anyone were to ask me now if I were certain I was female, then yes, of course I'd tell them I was.  
TT: And it would be the truth.  
TT: But I seem to have doubts about my certainty itself.  
TT: As if, having torn apart my head in order to discover an identity that fit...  
TT: I also voided the warranty.  
TG: but you got your answer right  
TG: i mean  
TG: tearing something apart  
TG: tearing yourself apart  
TG: just to find the answer to a riddle  
TG: thats gotta be worth something right  
TT: I hope so.  
TG: it just all seems kind of pointless  
TG: you just needed to know how to be yourself  
TG: and you know that now  
TG: you gotta follow your path  
TG: thats all  
TG: i mean  
TG: why stop and figure out whether or not the yellow brick road is real gold  
TG: when it gets you to the emerald city either way  
TT: And if it's night, how can you even be sure the road is yellow?  
TT: I feel as if I can't see the path.  
TT: Or know where it's going.  
TT: What if my path is through the dark, and not through the yellow?  
TT: What if I'm doomed to dark instead of light?  
TG: then ill be right there behind you  
TG: and thats all that matters  
TT: Your boundless self-assuredness never ceases to amaze me.  
TT: But for what it's worth, thank you.  
TT: And on that note, perhaps I will turn in for the night.  
TT: Good night.  
TG: night  
TG: and hey  
TG: try not to be so hard on yourself  
TG: youre not so bad  
TG: despite your lack of striderosity  
TT: I'll try.  
\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 02:23 --  


### Years in the past

You must be, you considered as you tried rebooting the internet router for the fifth time that night, the only child in your class without reliable Internet access.

Oh, you were sure there were less fortunate children out there without access either. And it wasn’t like you had a lack of access to computing resources. But everyone else at your posh private school - nothing but the best for her only son, your mother had said when she enrolled you - seemed to have incredibly fast, reliable home Internet access. While you were stuck in this giant house in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees.

Trees are not very good wireless routers.

You had heavily filtered access on the school computers. And you had your personal laptop, which unfortunately spent most of its time disconnected. Your house did have a very limited satellite connection, but it spent most of its time out of commission like it was right now, and the rest of the time it timed out on half the web pages you tried to load.

You supposed you could take your laptop somewhere else with internet access. Like, say, a coffee shop. Assuming the nearest Starbucks wasn’t forty minutes away by car, or longer if your mother needed to sober up first. Which it was (and she often did). What with being stuck in this giant house in the middle of nowhere surrounded by trees.

Once again. Unplug power, wait 10 seconds for the capacitors to discharge (you’d started reading up on electronics), plug back in, sacrifice a chicken. The power light came back on, but nothing else. You waited for the little activity lights to start blinking again. Nothing.

You bet that even remote islands in the middle of the Pacific ocean had better connectivity than you.

Really, you wished you could just tap into the network of the giant laboratory next door. But everything there was firmly locked down, and you had heard a rumor that it wasn’t even connected to the real Internet, just some private encrypted connection to a couple of remote government satellites that the general public wasn’t even supposed to know about.

So instead, you spent most of your time reading books and writing in your various notebooks. Your mother was…alarmingly willing to provide you with just about any book you wanted. Though she drew a line at some of the more explicitly Lovecraftian titles. (Those you snuck in from elsewhere.)

Predictably, this resulted in you owning a bookshelf full of medical reference books. You’d spent hours each day reading, in loving, exquisite detail, about all the horrible diseases and afflictions that could happen to people.

A more responsible parent, you considered, as you debated dropping the router into the roaring water outside, probably wouldn’t let their child have 4 different editions of the Physician’s Desk Reference. Or at least a parent less prone to fits of enthusiastic passive-aggressive excess.

What you really wanted was a copy of the DSM. You were starting to become very interested in psychology, and it’d be the perfect source material for your sessions with Jaspers. But it had been backordered for what seemed like forever.

You sighed at that, granted the router a temporary reprieve, and sat down to read the section on common jungle parasites again instead.

Tomorrow, if the router still didn’t work, you were going to try persuading it with a soldering iron.


	2. Months in the Future

> Observation:
> 
> There is something wrong with the other boys in my school. As they enter puberty, their mental faculties seem to be increasingly impaired.
> 
> Observation:
> 
> The girls are not displaying the same symptoms. They may have other symptoms I am not noticing at this time, but in general, female puberty strikes me as a much more positive development than male puberty.
> 
> Hypothesis:
> 
> Testosterone is a slow-acting poison which primarily affects the brain. Prolonged exposure can lead to drastic personality changes and an increase in risk-taking behavior.
> 
> The effects of estrogen seem to be more subtle, and on the whole appear less hazardous. However, when combined with those effects stemming from testosterone in a sufficiently large population ( _cf._ my school), the two hormones may work together to increase social polarization.
> 
> Conclusion:
> 
> No actions recommended at this time. For the moment I seem to have some sort of innate immunity to testosterone. However, I may still be at risk of exposure. Further observation is warranted.
> 
> **– Personal journal, volume 3.**

### Months in the future, but years in the past

A few months later found you crouched in the toppled remains of your bookshelf, weeping bitterly. It was late, and you’d knocked all the books off the shelf in a fit of frustrated rage. You’d tried to knock the bookshelf over, too, but it was bolted into the wall by some well-meaning person. Damn them.

You could feel the poison beginning to stream through your own veins. This human disease called puberty.

Your mental facilities seemed to still be intact…mostly. There were no indicators you were becoming like the rest of the afflicted boys in your class. That was good.

Though, you were definitely feeling more emotional. That was inconvenient. Little fits of rage and dread and anxiety and depression. Like now. You didn’t understand why everything had gone wrong all of a sudden. Except it didn’t feel sudden, really; it felt like something that had been growing for a while now. As if you’d been locked in an airtight container without you noticing it, and only now did you begin to feel short of breath. Trapped.

You were pretty sure that wherever your body was dragging you, you didn’t want to go there.

A few days earlier, you’d begun to search through your books in earnest. You had briefly entertained the notion that your entire class was suffering from lead poisoning…but no, that probably wasn’t it.

What seemed to be the best match was an affliction called gender dysphoria, with terms like ‘transgender’ and ‘transsexual’. You’d initially been very excited by this discovery, until you noticed that in general, the cases listed all seemed to involve being aware of gender dysphoria at a very early age. It was rarely treated or diagnosed at that age - it seemed like usually people sought treatment when they were much older - but they all cited early childhood onset, and it had merely been left undealt with for a while. A long while, in many cases.

There wasn’t a lot of material to go through, and what you had found seemed to be pretty old. But the cases you did find, the stories behind them…they were all so similar. A single, shared narrative of years spent hiding, of absolute certainty in one’s gender.

Well, that didn’t quite fit.

“Fuck you!”

You cursed and threw a few books from the pile you were sitting in at the wall. Thump, thump, thump. Your mother had passed out a while ago; you doubted she’d register the noises coming from your room.

In doing so you’d dislodged a recent notebook. You sighed, rubbed your eyes, and opened it to a blank page. You might as well start taking some notes. Maybe it’d help organize your thoughts.

“Point the first:”, you said, speaking aloud as you wrote. “Yes, I probably like girly things more than is typical for a boy my age.”

You frowned and tapped your pen against your mouth. Maybe you should cross that point out. Gender stereotypes were silly. Your mother had more or less left you to your own devices, without gender policing. The only time she’d really thrown a fuss was the time you tried on one of her dresses…but you were really only trying it on out of idle curiosity, and assumed she was more concerned about you accidentally tearing it.

You really, really wanted this diagnosis to fit. It sounded like your best bet for escaping what increasingly sounded like your doom.

But it didn’t sound like it did - not all the way, anyway.

“Point the second: I only recently started experiencing discomfort. Yes, I feel pretty strongly averse to a male physiology. No, I do not want to end up like the rest of the boys in my class.”

You paused again.

All of these people sounded so convinced of their gender identity, so self-assured. You weren’t sure mere confusion would cut it.

“But I do not have strong opinions on gender beyond that. Is that sufficient?”

Would the doctors even treat you if you didn’t fit the symptoms entirely? Would they lock you up in a lab somewhere and examine your bizarre aberration? Would they just laugh you out of their office and leave you to the annoyance of your parent?

What if they just stood by and let you go on in agony like this?

You really didn’t like the sound of that last one.

“Question: Exactly how much does my discomfort matter here?”

You supposed you could lie - spin a tale to fit all the others. Fake a history of symptoms. It wasn’t like your mother could dispute your claims; she spent half her time blacked out like she was now.

“Follow-up question: Do I have to be authentic, or merely believable?”

And then they could cancel out all the horrible hormones and everything would be okay.

That was really all you wanted, right?

Right?

“Final question…”

_And everything would be okay._ The thought echoed through your head again. Okay. Well, whatever ‘okay’ was for girls, anyway. And what was that like? You’d never given it much thought.

It seemed better than the alternative.

It seemed a lot better than the alternative.

“What’s my end game here?”

Actually, it sounded downright nice. Alternative or not.

“Possible courses of action…”

You stared at the page for a long time, thoughts racing against each other. Considering facts, extrapolating.

You’d always been able to see at least a little into your own future. It wasn’t clairvoyance so much as an ability to project, to plan. To understand where you wanted to go and how to get there. Simply a matter of perception and forward planning, really.

But right now your vision felt clouded. It was as if some strange singularity lay in front of you; something you couldn’t see beyond.

How could you plan for such a thing?

“…unknown.”

You would have to keep digging for now. In a very literal sense, because you were pretty sure you were pinned down by books at this point.

You closed your eyes and leaned back into the books. It wasn’t very comfortable, but you suddenly felt so very tired.

You’d have to remember to get up early and do something about the mess before your mother saw it. Or invent some excuse. Either way, you really didn’t think you could cope with having to explain all of…this…to her.

You scrunched up your eyes against the overhead light, curled up a bit tighter, and slept.

You dreamt of wandering endlessly through purple corridors, floating through the dark, in search of something. You were pretty sure you were being followed. Someone was keeping out of your direct line of sight. You kept seeing distorted reflections of them in some of the surfaces around you, but couldn’t figure out how the angles worked. Finally you turned a corner, and there she was - a strange girl in royal pajamas that matched her surroundings. You reached out for her…

…and your fingers hit glass.

You woke up with a jolt, shivering. You stared blankly at the mess around you. It was still dark out. You’d only gotten a couple of hours worth of sleep, but you were pretty sure that was all you were going to get for tonight.

You sighed and started moving the books back into place.

The dream lingered in the back of your head over the following weeks, filling your days with a blank dread. Dread, and an increasing, nagging desire, despite all your doubts, to try out this girl thing for real - because with every day that passed it sounded like a better and better option.


	3. Hiding in the Observatory

> Trans kids know from birth, though most repress it to adulthood.
> 
> I did not experience dysphoria in my early childhood. Therefore, I must not be trans, and my current unhealthy fixation…
> 
> …well, I suppose it must be due to some other root cause.
> 
> But what?
> 
> I can see no other root cause at hand.
> 
> I have scoured my books. I have scoured my own past. Nothing seems to fit.
> 
> This search is costing me more than time. It is costing me my sleep. It is costing me my mind.
> 
> I fear it has become more than a search. As if I were racing to solve some massive riddle in time, before - before what exactly?
> 
> Before it takes me too?
> 
> ..and what would become of me then?
> 
> **– Personal journal, volume 3.**

* * *

It was late again. You lay in bed, listening to the tick-tock-tick of the large grandfather clock elsewhere in the house. It had wizards carved all over its wood exterior. You were fairly certain it was the worst clock ever made.

You were also fairly certain that that was what had motivated your mother to buy it in the first place.

Thunder rattled off in the distance. You sighed, kicked off the sheets, and rolled out of bed, taking a moment to grab your pillow and blanket.

Creeping down the hallway, taking care to avoid your mother’s room, you made your way to the observatory.

Your increasing distress had led you to spend more and more time hiding here. It was an odd sort of refuge. Its chief virtue was that it was utterly bare. No posters on the wall. No stack of homework. No half-read books. No closet full of clothes that you felt more and more at odds with. The only identity in this room was what you chose to bring with you.

Most of all, though, it had no bed - just a few pillows you’d stockpiled here for nights like these. There must be something wrong with your bed, because it certainly didn’t afford you any sleep, these days. Easier just to sleep on the floor here, under the safety of the giant telescope and beyond it, the stars.

You took the opportunity to look at those stars now. Off in the distance, lightning flashed. You waited, counting silently to yourself. The thunder was a long time coming. The storm was still a ways away. It’d get here soon enough.

Back to the stars, then. You’d spent a long time looking up at those stars. You wished fervently that one day, aliens would come for you, and take you back to their world, their ships. Take you away from here, back to their ship where they didn’t even have beds, just piles of pillows like the one at your feet now. And you could just tell them, when they asked, that you were a perfectly normal Earth girl in need of some minor repairs, and they’d just take you at your word, and heal you without scrutiny. Because you would be an alien to them, and they wouldn’t understand this human emotion called gender.

You were almost certain that gender was a human emotion.

Away, away, away. You sighed, pulled your head away from the telescope, and curled up in your pillow pile. Almost anything would be better, you thought sleepily, than how you currently felt. Anything would be better than this horrible sensation of being chained to a barren moon, flung out of its orbit and hurtling towards some unknown destination in the vast dark.


	4. Surreptitious Acts

## Act 2: Explore

  
\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering gardenGnostic [GG] at 00:13 --  
TT: How do you do it, J?  
GG: umm...do what?  
TT: How do you wake up each day and decide what to wear?  
TT: You've told me about your varied wardrobe.  
TT: How do you decide on a skirt one day, a waistcoat and tie the next, and then both the day after that? What goes into that decision?  
GG: i don't know, i just do!  
GG: i guess i just go with whatever i feel like wearing that day or what i think will look good  
GG: i mean, theyre just clothes  
TT: I see.  
GG: i get the feeling this isn't about me though!  
GG: i thought you liked the way you dressed??  
TT: I do, now.  
TT: Believe me, I have no desire to start rocking a cummerbund.  
TT: And not just for lack of black tie events to attend.  
TT: Though I suppose there is that as well.  
GG: ooh now i want a tux :D  
TT: You would look incredible in a tux.  
TT: Individuals of all genders and orientations would throw themselves at your feet for the remotest chance of that ultimate prize: a slow dance with you.  
TT: Of course, first they'd have to get in line after me.  
GG: heehee!  
GG: i appreciate the flattery but i think we are getting off topic missy!  
GG: you were asking me about clothes  
TT: Right.  
TT: I guess I was just thinking about when I was first coming to terms with the notion that I might be trans.  
TT: Starting with attire.  
TT: In retrospect, it shouldn't have been a big deal.  
TT: Like you said, they're just clothes.  
TT: But it was a big deal for me, J.  
TT: It was a huge deal.  
TT: And now I can't help but see this massive history of politics and personal angst and identity struggle every morning as I peruse my dresser.  
TT: Every morning, all that grief just flashing behind my eyes while I'm just trying to decide which shade of purple I'm going to wear today.  
TT: How do you manage to make it not a big deal?  
TT: I'm envious.  
GG: gosh i dont know!!!  
GG: but that sounds awful and if i were there i'd give you a big hug  
GG: honestly half the time i don't even know what i want to wear and just leave the wardrobifier on random  
GG: and sometimes i get frustrated too!!  
GG: like if i want to wear guy clothing but i dont want to deal with my binder because it gets itchy  
GG: so it's not always not a big deal  
GG: were you happy?  
TT: What?  
GG: when you were first coming to terms with things i mean  
GG: were you happy when you tried on those clothes?  
TT: I was ecstatic.  
TT: It was just such a massive relief.  
GG: well then, maybe try to think about that when you're getting dressed in the morning?  
GG: it might help you remember why you're doing it in the first place  
GG: that way you have happy associations instead of sad  
TT: Huh.  
TT: That's not a bad idea.  
TT: Thank you.  
GG: sure!!!  
\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering gardenGnostic [GG] at 00:24 --  


* * *

### Years in the past

A little while later, you were staring at yourself in the bathroom mirror, trembling, the door locked.

You had pretty much given up on finding an explanation at this point. Lacking any further hypotheses, you needed to gather more data. And the idea that had been gnawing at your brain since you’d started dealing with this was front and center.

You carefully laid out on the counter the various items you’d managed to get your hands on. A headband your mother had long since forgotten she owned. Little odds and ends of makeup. A couple of clothing items - items, in fact, that she could have sworn she set down right on the entryway table to send back because they were too small for her, only now she couldn’t seem to find them.

A mystery, that last one.

You washed your face, and poked a little bit at the makeup. You frowned. Everything was too garish; you really should have stolen from someone with better taste. You set that aside. Makeup didn’t seem to be a big thing at school these days anyway. You washed your face again and stared idly at your chin for a bit, trying to get up courage for the next bit.

The clothes were a horrible fit. Too small for their intended owner, perhaps, but definitely too big on you. You tugged a bit at them here and there, trying to see past the reality into what could be. There was a little bit of potential there. You put your t-shirt back on but left the skirt on; it was of a formless flowing variety that looked fine in the waist-length mirror as long as you didn’t think about how far it extended past your feet. Not freaking out yet. Okay. Good.

Finally you rearranged your hair, somewhat overdue for a haircut, into what you hoped was a more feminine arrangement, and then carefully put on the headband.

You stared into the mirror for a long, long time after that.

There was a pair of scissors in one of the drawers; you knew you didn’t have a whole lot of leeway in terms of what would go unnoticed, even by the blurred standards of your mother’s vision, but you thought you might be able to make some small adjustments to your hairstyle. You trimmed little messy bits of hair here and there, with a careful eye and careful hand. It paid to be precise.

There. Done.

You stared into the mirror again. You were pretty sure there was a girl staring back at you.

And…it was kind of nice.

Okay, you admitted to yourself - it wasn’t just kind of nice. It felt, despite your doubts to the contrary, like a giant millstone had finally rolled away from you.

Giddy on a wave of relief, you just kept staring at yourself in the mirror, tilting your head this way and that, until you finally heard your mother stirring nearby. You gathered everything up, sidled out of the bathroom, and surreptitiously returned most of the items to their appropriate places.

But you held onto the headband.


	5. Paragender Studies

> Can you just up and decide you must be trans one day? Can you really just do that? Without years and years of documentation? Can it be a thing that happens to you abruptly?
> 
> I don’t know if that is a thing that can be done. But I might need it to be. I’m not sure what else I can do at this point.
> 
> **– Personal journal, volume 3.**

* * *

“Ross?”

You rolled your eyes and kept digging through your backpack instead of looking up. Your ride to school was arriving soon, and you were starting to wonder if you’d forgotten to pack your homework or not.

“Yes, mother?”

“I’m running late for work, but a network technician is supposed to be here any minute to realign the satellite dishes. If they show up before your ride does, could you greet them and make sure they can get to the dish controls?”

You popped your head up. Network technician?

“I can do that. Is this about the Internet connection? Because it’s been down again.”

_As usual_ , you added silently.

“It is! Apparently they’ve sent up some more satellites, so once they realign the dishes, we should have continuous line-of-sight access. No more outages.”

You very nearly made an excited squeaking sound at that, but you’d resolved long ago to never show emotion to your mother, and you weren’t about to start now.

“Excellent. I’ll be sure to let them in.”

You went back down to rifling through your papers, but you were utterly distracted at this point, and stayed distracted all the way to school.

Working Internet access. Reliable, unfettered access. It still wouldn’t be as great as what they had in the suburbs, but at least it would work as long as the power didn’t go out.

Which, you had to admit, seemed to happen surprisingly often.

You spent the whole school day in a daze of anticipation, and then completely zoned out through the day’s extracurricular activities. Fortunately, you’d been getting so little sleep lately that no one thought it unusual when you stared blankly at a wall through three different binding resolutions at Model UN.

Between your after-school clubs and an extra-long ride back home due to road construction, it was ridiculously late by the time you got home, and you were practically vibrating with excitement. You rushed up to your room, waving off your mother’s attempts to feed you dinner.

Before you opened up your laptop, though, you carefully locked your door and put the headband on. You’d been spending more and more time in this sort of….quasi-girl mode, whenever you could get some time where you’d be alone. It wasn’t much, and it wasn’t like anyone else could see it, but it was uncanny how much better it made you feel.

It was a strange business, really. You were wearing this clearly gendered item…but it wasn’t being used to communicate gender to anyone else. It was only serving as a sort of symbol to yourself. A note from yourself reminding you who you were. Whoever you were, anyway.

Until now, you really hadn’t stopped to consider that gender could be a thing performed for one’s own sake, and not for the sake of other people.

Anyhow. With that business settled, you logged on and finally got down to some serious unfettered research. Most of what you’d been reading was at least 20 years old; you wanted to see if someone else had figured out just what the hell was going on with you in the meantime.

One of the first things you stumbled onto was some sort of online trans support forum. You skimmed some of the recent posts. One of them in particular caught your eye.

> **From:** ghostyTrickster  
>  **Subject:** junior ectobiologist seeks assistant for paragender studies  
>  **Posted:** 1 day ago **[online now!]**
> 
> haha, just kidding on the title! i’m just looking for more folks my own age dealing with gender issues because there aren’t very many where i am. i only started dealing with this dysphoria - did i spell that right? - stuff recently so i’m kinda still finding my way around.
> 
> so…if there are any other students on here who’d like to talk (no creeps please), um, private message me? we could talk about other stuff than gender too. like ghostbusters or other movies.
> 
> – j (gt)

Poor capitalization aside, your heart leapt at the thought of talking to someone else in your situation. And it sounded like they might be near your age, too. You could swap stories of this human disease called puberty. And perhaps come up with some sort of battle plan together.

> **[Private Note]**  
>  **From:** tentacleTherapist  
>  **To:** ghostyTrickster  
>  **Subject:** Paragender studies 
> 
> Hello,
> 
> I don’t know much about Ghostbusters, but I would definitely like to talk to you about your forays into gender, as it is something I have only recently been dealing with myself. If nothing else, it would be good to have another perspective.
> 
> I look forward to your response.
> 
> Sincerely,  
>  R (TT)

A response came back surprisingly quickly.

> **[Private Note]**  
>  **From:** ghostyTrickster  
>  **To:** tentacleTherapist  
>  **Subject:** Re: Paragender studies 
> 
> hi tt! that would be great. unfortunately this forum messaging page doesn’t seem to work so well on my computer. could we maybe talk on pesterchum instead? i’ve got the same screen name over there.
> 
> nice to meet you,  
>  \- j (gt)

You quickly installed the chat client on your laptop and registered an account.

  
\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering ghostyTrickster [GT] at 18:12 --  
TT: Hello. Is this working better for you?  
GT: hi! yes.  
TT: Excellent. I suppose introductions are in order.  
TT: I'm...actually, let's just go with TT for now.  
TT: I'm fond of eldritch horrors, psychology, and cats.  
TT: And I am utterly dreading puberty.  
TT: How about you?  
GT: nice to meet you tt.  
GT: i'm really into comedy. and movies. but not just comedy movies.  
GT: but i like those too.  
GT: is actual psychology anything like parapsychology?  
TT: Despite my love of Lovecraft, I'm afraid not.  
TT: I am interested in alien life, if that helps.  
TT: Or possibly wizards, but that's kind of a complicated subject.  
GT: aliens are cool, too, though. that's very x-files. you could be like mulder.  
TT: Or Scully, yes.  
GT: er, yeah.  
GT: um.  
GT: i guess i'm kind of worried about puberty too.  
GT: i haven't, like, made any decisions or anything.  
GT: my dad knows, and i've been talking to a counselor about it, and that kind of helps.  
GT: i have to admit my dad is pretty awesome about it, actually.  
GT: i dunno.  
GT: i have this other friend i met online, he came out as trans at a really, really early age.  
GT: but like, sometimes it kind of intimidates me to talk to him about this stuff.  
GT: and not just because he knows how to swordfight!  
GT: but it's...  
GT: argh  
TT: You're intimidated by his certainty, and it makes you question whether you're really trans.  
GT: yes, exactly!  
TT: I am somewhat familiar with that one myself.  
TT: Unfortunately.  
GT: right  
GT: but like  
GT: in the meantime everyone's bodies are changing  
GT: and i look at mine  
GT: and i'm all...  
TT: "I don't want my voice to drop."  
GT: "i don't want boobs."  
GT: huh?  
TT: Wait, what?  
GT: i'm a little confused now.  
GT: i thought you were trying to figure out if you were a guy or not, like me.  
TT: I suppose technically I am trying to answer that question, but no, I'm coming at this the opposite way as you.  
GT: oh.  
GT: OH.  
GT: so you've got, like, a male body.  
TT: Unfortunately. And I assume you don't.  
GT: nope.  
TT: Well, this is certainly awkward.  
GT: um yeah.  
TT: Crud, my mother is yelling pretty insistently at me now.  
TT: Somehow she's gotten it into her head that I need to eat dinner.  
TT: Due to what I can only assume is insidious food industry propaganda.  
GT: it is an important meal!  
GT: unless you're having cake for dinner.  
GT: cake, you gotta abscond right out of there.  
TT: I see.  
TT: I'm pretty sure that's not the case, but I wouldn't put it past her.  
TT: Okay. I've got to go. Talk later?  
GT: sure thing.  
GT: nice to meet you!  
TT: It was nice to meet you too.  
\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering ghostyTrickster [GT] at 18:31 --  


Your heart was racing as you closed your laptop and stood up. Another kid like you! Well, no, not exactly like you. That was somewhat disappointing. But still. You had a potential ally. And could actually talk to someone about this. As much as you adored your journals, you had to admit it was nice to get a break from the echo chamber of your own head.

Your mother shouted for you again, snapping you out of your reverie. You ran for the door.

Your hand reached the doorknob before you remembered the headband.

Damn. You could tell already this was going to hurt to keep secret. And normally you were so good at secrets.

No matter the hassle, though, you were pretty sure you needed it to stay that way for now. Just for a while. You’d tell the world just what you were once you were good and ready. But first you had to find out for yourself.

You sighed, and took the headband off, setting it carefully aside where it wouldn’t be found by prying eyes.

And then you ran downstairs, bracing yourself to act like a perfectly normal human boy for 20 minutes.


	6. Minor to Major

  
\-- ghostyTrickster [GT] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 17:54 --  
GT: hello again!  
TT: Hi. How goes it?  
GT: um, okay. i just got home from school.  
GT: how about you?  
TT: I've been researching our mutual predicament.  
TT: As I'd hoped, it turns out there have been many advances in terminology over the past while. And some corresponding advancement in treatment protocols, though that seems to have lagged a bit behind.  
GT: oh?  
TT: For example, it looks like there is a way doctors could delay my puberty altogether. Though I suppose not indefinitely.  
TT: I suppose it's possible there might be a similar medical option available to you, if you so chose, but I'm not exactly certain of the details yet.  
GT: ooh.  
TT: And there seems to be increasing acceptance of "genderfluid" or "genderqueer" identities.  
GT: oh yeah, i'd seen that around.  
GT: though the pronouns seem kind of confusing, i guess?  
GT: all the zees and hirs and zoos.  
GT: especially the zoos.  
GT: i dunno.  
GT: i guess it's probably not for me.  
TT: Yes, I'm...similarly conflicted about that.  
TT: I like the implication that I don't need to settle all of this in an either/or manner. That I can reject certain aspects of being male without having to declare myself female in return.  
TT: But now that I know I have that option - and believe me, that's quite the relief in and of itself - I'm finding that it doesn't appeal to me as much as I'd have thought it would.  
GT: oh. so you're thinking you might be a guy after all?  
TT: Oh god no.  
TT: No, I'm pretty sure that ship has sailed.  
TT: I actually meant that despite my initial hesitation, I'm actually kind of relishing the notion of embracing a female identity.  
TT: And, frankly, kind of regretting that I hadn't considered it in the past.  
TT: It's not a set thing. I'm still working some bits out.  
TT: And despite everything I've read to the contrary...I still question my authenticity in the matter.  
TT: I worry I might be misleading myself somehow.  
GT: well, but that's what therapists are for, right? to help you sort things out?  
GT: i mean, you should know, you kinda are one!  
TT: Fair enough.  
TT: You're not so bad at it yourself, you know.  
GT: haha thanks.  
TT: No, I'm serious.  
TT: I know I've been rambling a lot, but it helps to have someone to ramble to, at least.  
TT: And I hope that I've been, or can be, at least a good a fake therapist to you as you've been to me.  
GT: well sure!  
GT: that's very kind of you.  
GT: and i really do like talking to you.  
GT: even if you do most of the talking, haha  
GT: but sure, go on and psychoanalyze me.  
GT: tell me all about myself, doctor mctentacles.  


* * *

  
GT: ...and then i thought my dad was going to flip out when he saw i'd gotten shaving cream all over his tie.   
GT: but he turned out to be pretty cool about it.   
GT: which was a good thing because a couple of weeks after that i kind of   
GT: um...   
GT: flipped out. :(   
TT: Oh dear. What happened?   
GT: i don't know, it was just...   
GT: i was at school, and everything had been so weird for so long.   
GT: and all of a sudden it was just like everything collapsed in on itself.   
GT: like the world was just wrong.   
GT: and it hurt, and dealing with the people at school, the kids and the teachers, it just made it worse somehow.   
GT: argh, i'm not explaining this very well. :(   
TT: It's okay. Strong emotional events can be quite difficult to put into words.   
TT: Does the world still feel wrong?   
GT: it's getting better.   
GT: it's weird because it seems like i haven't done all that much, you know? just talked about this stuff to some folks. like you.   
GT: but just doing stuff like that, and knowing i could do more...   
GT: it's like when you're playing piano and you realize you've been hitting a note wrong.   
GT: and you just shift it over by one key, just by half a step.   
GT: and the chord you were playing goes from from minor to major and it all just...   
GT: it all goes together again.   



	7. On the Naming of Names

The following morning was spent pacing through your garden, deep in thought.

Well. You thought of it as your garden. It wasn’t cultivated, wasn’t maintained. Really, it was just an isolated spot in the woods that only you knew about, a clearing amongst the trees. But it was your clearing, and it was nice having a private spot that no one else knew about. The same could not be said of the observatory or the mausoleum; your mother knew to look for you there, so you made a point of only retreating there when you knew she was otherwise disposed. For a late weekend morning, and your mother due to wake from her customary Friday night bender any hour now, you were better off staying outside where she couldn’t find you.

The roar of the falls was muted by the surrounding trees, but you could still hear it. You closed your eyes and listened, just letting that sound guide your thoughts for a while. Floating downstream on the white noise.

You opened your eyes just long enough to go and set yourself down near a tree. You dug your hands into the cool soil, enjoying the sense of being grounded, being connected to the calm stone that lay beneath. You closed your eyes again and refocused your ears.

You’d meant to spend this time figuring out what to do, whether to even make a choice now, but your thoughts had eluded you. It was hard to focus on the matter at hand, no matter how urgent it seemed. It just hurt too much to think about, as if trying to touch an object engulfed in flames. You felt the searing heat of the pain, and instinctively backed away. But if you ran, ran from this now…how much would the fire consume? Everything? Would it eat at you from the inside, flames consuming everything they touched until your mind was as warped and twisted and scarred as you feared your body was doomed to be?

But beyond the heat of the flame, there was the coolness of water. Beyond the red, the blue. There, waiting to receive you…if you were willing to take a chance.

Perhaps it was time to take a leap of faith.

* * *

You woke with a start. You’d fallen asleep outside.

You’d dreamt of those purple hallways again, but this time you could have sworn you’d heard someone - several someones - whispering to you. Just a quiet murmuring; you couldn’t make them out. But you were pretty sure there were multiple voices.

You blinked a bit, and your ears woke up and started to register the ever-present roar of the falls.

The falls. You must have mistaken them for whispering.

That must have been it.

Yawning and stretching, you wandered back into the house. The contents of a bottle of ibuprofen were strewn across the kitchen counter, and you could hear water moving through the pipes. Presumably your mother had woken up at some point with a hangover, and was now showering.

You made yourself a sandwich and headed up to your room to find your computer blinking. You closed the door and pulled up the IM window excitedly, neglecting your sandwich for the moment.

  
\-- ghostyTrickster [GT] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 13:11 --  
GT: good morning! happy saturday.  
TT: Good afternoon.  
TT: Is it morning where you are?  
GT: well yeah.  
GT: isn't it there too?  
TT: No.  
TT: I'm on Eastern time. It's after 1PM.  
TT: I take it you're not.  
GT: oh! no. hahaha. no, we're pacific time here.  
GT: so i haven't been up all that long.  
TT: Neither have I, to be honest, but that was more due to an unexpected nap than the ruthless norms of my timezone.  
TT: Anyway. Hello.  
GT: hello!  
GT: so, if you don't mind my asking, what's your birth name? mine's jody.  
TT: ...  
TT: Is this how you start all your conversations?  
GT: well, no.  
GT: i start them with "good morning! happy saturday."  
TT: Fair enough.  
TT: I suppose it's a good thing it's Saturday then.  
GT: well yeah...  
TT: Anyhow.  
TT: It seems to me that it's kind of a personal question to ask.  
TT: But then, I suppose most of what we've been talking about has been deeply personal.  
TT: Anyhow.  
TT: Wait, I already said that.  
TT: If you must know, it's Ross.  
TT: Though I guess I might want to change that at some point.  
TT: Tricky business, names.  
TT: Are you considering changing yours, then?  
GT: oh i dunno.  
GT: probably i guess.  
GT: everything's still pretty much up in the air at this point.  
GT: and i'm still not even 100% sure i want to be a boy!  
GT: also, jody was my nanna's middle name.  
GT: and i worry i'd let my dad down if i changed it :(  
GT: especially because she passed away in some sort of accident the day i was born.  
GT: so i guess he kinda...named me in her honor?  
GT: it's all kind of a huge mess.  
TT: I see.  
TT: Well, if you were going to pick a name, what would it be?  
GT: oh gosh i dunno.  
GT: i'd kinda like to keep my initials. and i'd want it to be easy to spell.  
GT: people are always misspelling jody because they think it's got a fancy modern spelling. like with three i's and eight e's. so maybe something simple.  
GT: though it's kind of a shame it's not spelled jodie like jodie foster in contact.  
TT: I liked that book. They did the aliens well in that one, I thought.  
GT: there was a book of that?  
TT: Yes, before the movie.  
GT: wow.  
TT: I didn't enjoy the movie nearly as much, really. They took liberties with several key details in the book.  
TT: But such are the capricious whims of Hollywood.  
GT: i will take your word for it!  
GT: anyway my point is, i need a new name and i probably can't legally change my name to matthew mcconaughey.  
TT: Pity.  
GT: i kind of like john.  
GT: i mean, i guess people could still misspell it as jon.  
GT: but that's not so bad.  
GT: what about you?  
GT: i mean, i know you've got your doubts and all.  
GT: but maybe it'd help to think about?  
TT: Well...  
TT: To be honest, I rather like the name Rose.  
TT: Like you, I would prefer to retain my initials.  
TT: It's similar to my current name, which I suppose is a little stereotypical.  
TT: But I've never had a great deal of animosity towards that name.  
TT: It's just inconvenient.  
GT: haha yeah i could see that.  
TT: I have a somewhat sillier reason as well.  
GT: oh yeah?  
TT: Seriously, it's silly.  
GT: silly is good!  
TT: Alright.  
TT: It's just that there are a lot of plants here. But no roses.  
TT: It seems like maybe we could use some.  
TT: But like I said, that's a silly reason.  
TT: Downright frivolous.  
GT: no, that's great!  
GT: rose rose rose. i've never known anyone named rose before.  
TT: Technically, you still don't.  
GT: well yeah.  
GT: but it would be neat.  
TT: Such a compelling argument you have there.  
TT: You know, if you wanted to try out a new name for a bit, I could help.  
TT: I could call you John in our interactions. Or whatever name you wished to try on. Would that interest you?  
GT: that  
GT: that would actually be wonderful.  
GT: you'd really do that for me?  
TT: Of course.  
GT: call me john?  
TT: It would be my pleasure to do so, John.  
GT: SO AWESOME.  
GT: thank you.  
GT: i know it's just for trying out, but...  
GT: it just makes me so happy to see that up on my screen.  


You turned your head from the computer for a second, blinking back the barest hint of tears. When you turned back, a new message had appeared.

  
GT: oh hey, TT?   
TT: Yes, John?   
GT: would it…would it maybe be okay if i called you rose sometimes?   
TT: I…think I’d like that very much. Thank you, John.   
GT: sure thing rose!   


Then the tears hit you for real. But at least they were happy tears.


	8. And the Dreamer is You

## Act 3: Ascend

> In my dreams she pursues me. She has before, she will again.
> 
> But what if my dreams are just a reflection of what I face in the waking world?
> 
> Why, then when I am awake, it must be I who pursue her.
> 
> We pursue each other and we know not where we are going. For now we only see each other as reflections through a mirror darkly. But perhaps one day we shall meet each other face to face.
> 
> And perhaps on that day, in having each sought the other, we might each truly know ourselves.
> 
> **– Personal journal, volume 4.**

You spent the rest of that day in a daze. You curled up on your bed with a notebook and tried to write, but between your strange nap and your unexpectedly moving chat with John, you felt…floaty, your mind drifting on a sea of conflicting emotions. You felt buoyed by giddy joy. You felt buffeted by your continued anxiety and depression. You felt…incredibly tired, actually.

That was unsurprising, really. You hadn’t exactly been sleeping well these past few weeks. The nap had helped a little, but you could really use another half a dozen or so. Maybe if you just sort of laid back and…drifted off…

You didn’t dream of the strange purple place again, not right away at least. Your sleep felt too light for that, your mind still too restless, as if you were just barely floating below the surface of consciousness. There was a timeless quality to it, and so it felt like a long time passed in that state, or perhaps no time at all. Eventually, though, your mind did settle down into a deeper sleep, and you found yourself being chased by the purple girl once again.

Even though you were already asleep, you still felt too tired to force a confrontation this time, and so you wandered aimlessly through extravagantly decorated halls. Even here you felt as if you were floating, and when you looked down, you realized that was because you actually were.

You floated a long time, out into the open air, surrounded by the darkness of dream space and the endless whispering murmuring noises that filled it. You floated until you came upon a window, and through it, a boy - well, okay, boy-shaped person - who sat slumped at a computer.

What you saw was the exact mirror image of yourself.

Except this person was clad all in purple, just like your pursuer, and wearing the most utterly ridiculous pair of sunglasses you had ever seen.

So that was kind of odd.

You boggled. Okay, you were clearly dealing with some freaky symbolic shit here. Freud and Jung would have a field day.

Your twin at the computer didn’t take note of you. They were too busy typing - pestering somebody, it looked like. You caught a glimpse of a reflection off their shades, and you peered in to get a closer look.

What you saw, reflected back to you, was the purple girl, floating at the windowsill and peering in.

In your dreams, you were the purple girl. It was you.

Once again, you woke up with a jolt, your head spinning, disoriented as all get-out. It felt like you were still floating. You panicked a little, struggling to free yourself from the blankets you’d managed to become tangled in while you slept.

It was growing dark out. You wondered if your mother was bothering with dinner tonight.

Still clearing your eyes, you turned and saw your computer blinking. You weren’t sure you were up to dealing with online communication right now, but then again you weren’t sure you wanted to risk falling sleep again any time soon, either. You could probably use the distraction.

You sat down at your desk and clicked on the blinking notification icon. You didn’t recognize the user icon; either John had changed his or someone else was messaging you. Strange. Who else even had your chumhandle? No one that you could think of.

  
\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 18:12 --  
TG: hey  
TG: egbert gave me your pesterchum handle  
TG: thought maybe you could use someone else to talk to  
TG: sup  



	9. Fast Enough

  
\-- ghostyTrickster [GT] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 15:14 --  
GT: hey rose!  
TT: Hello John!  
TT: It still makes me so happy to see you call me that.  
TT: I suppose that's a good sign.  
GT: definitely!  
TT: How have you been?  
GT: i'm all right!  
GT: i have to go to a therapy appointment in a little while so i guess i'm just kind of biding my time until then.  
GT: and you're fun to talk to, so...  
TT: You've been seeing another therapist behind my back? I'm crushed.  
GT: uh.  
TT: I'm kidding.  
TT: It's great that you're seeing a professional. I assume this the counselor you mentioned, the one you've been talking to about gender stuff?  
GT: yeah!  
GT: i think we're finally making some progress now.  
GT: like we've been talking about my school options, name stuff, even some puberty stuff...  
GT: it's still kind of scary but it's also really exciting!  
GT: both her and my dad are really supportive and making it clear that it's about what would work well for me.  
TT: That's good!  
GT: so i hadn't wanted to say anything until i was sure but...  
GT: i think I might decide to move forward on some of that soon!  
GT: like change my name and talk to the school administrators about it.  
TT: That's wonderful.  
TT: You're fortunate to have such supportive people helping you.  
GT: i guess so, yeah!  
GT: so have you made any more plans on your own gender stuff yet?  
TT: Well.  
TT: Not exactly.  
GT: oh?  
TT: Sorry, I have to go deal with something now.  
TT: And I imagine you need to leave for your appointment soon anyway.  
TT: Talk to you later.  
\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering ghostyTrickster [GT] at 15:32 --  


It was late, too late for violin. You were playing it anyway, loudly, loud enough to be heard over the falls, the pouring rain, and the occasional punctuating clap of thunder. Maybe even loud enough for your mother to hear, but you couldn’t really bring yourself to care about that just now.

Your violin screeched for mercy. You weren’t inclined to show it any, and continued on with another series of cascading minor chords.

In the weeks since you’d ventured online and first talked to John, you had found yourself settling more into your newfound understanding of your own gender. You liked this new feeling of control over your own life, this incredible uplifting feeling of the universe finally starting to make sense. You were even sleeping well for once, though you still weren’t getting as much sleep as you really ought to be. Some nights you just stayed up practically vibrating with excitement. Still, even that felt like an improvement over your previous situation.

And then it all came crashing down around you again, like so many books toppled from your bookshelf, as your anxiety and depression reasserted themselves.

In a just universe, that would have been the cue for another peal of thunder. You stopped playing your violin for a moment, waited for it. Silence. The storm had skipped out on your angsting session. Damnit.

You put bow to instrument once more, at which point it really did thunder again, making it impossible to hear the note you were only halfway hitting in the first place. You were pretty sure it was mocking you at this point.

You weren’t sure there was any one thing that had done it, really. Maybe it was just a lot of little things instead.

Like thinking about hormones - you really, really wanted hormone blockers at this point - and how you’d have to deal with your mother to get them.

Like thinking about having to go see a therapist. You suspected you were much happier being the therapist than the patient.

Like hearing about the progress that John was making with his own transition, and being happy for him, and at the same time…feeling incredibly envious of him.

Envious, and resentful, and then guilty for feeling envious and resentful and not being happier for him.

What the fuck was wrong with you?

The thunder rumbled helpfully in response.

It wasn’t a race. Everyone went at their own pace, and besides, he’d started dealing with this stuff before you had. You would get there in your own time. And in the meantime, you were all in this together.

…except it _was_ a race, in a sense. But you weren’t racing against John. You were racing against your own body. And that was worse.

Your brain kept shouting _NOW, NOW, NOW_ at you and you couldn’t move fast enough, you worried you couldn’t keep up, that your body would overtake you and you’d lose, you weren’t sure what losing meant but you knew for certain you didn’t want to find out.

And now hearing about John’s progress just made you feel like you were falling behind even further.

You couldn’t help but feel that this was your fault somehow. That falling behind meant you were failing at being trans. That you should have known sooner. That you must not want it enough. That if you were really trans, you would have dealt with this by now.

And therefore John was better at being trans than you, and Dave was better still, but frankly you were more upset about John right now because his every minor victory just made your own failures seem all the more pathetic and half-hearted. Inauthentic.

Oh god, that was it, wasn’t it? What if you were right all along? What if you really weren’t trans, just like you’d ruled out initially, and all your reading up on the matter and reaching out to people and trying on names and hair accessories were just a desperate attempt to convince yourself otherwise?

What if you were faking it? What if you were just trying to justify your own madness, disguising whatever the hell was really wrong with you under a thin veneer of an accepted diagnosis?

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

The room seemed to spin a little as you stood frozen in your room, still gripping the violin and feeling too overwhelmed to set it down, paralyzed by a wave of anxiety and self-loathing.

This was not a good state to be in. You thought that you should probably get online and talk to somebody about it, but the storm had knocked out your Internet access hours ago and was showing no sign of abating any time soon. If you wanted to talk to somebody you’d have to wait at least an hour or two, or possibly even longer than that.

You wondered what you could do in the meantime to preoccupy yourself.


	10. drnku typin *typing

### Chapter 10

> One of the cruelest things about being trans - and about coming to terms with that - is dealing with all of those who came before you.
> 
> They paved the way for the rest of us, and I owe them a debt of gratitude for that.
> 
> But then they filled our heads with lies about gender, about what it means to be properly trans. Their healing became our damage.
> 
> I understand why they did it. I understand the incredible odds they were up against, why they had to stake out a proper niche for themselves in an society that didn’t understand them.
> 
> I understand why. But I’m not sure I can ever fully forgive them for it.
> 
> **– Personal journal, volume 4.**

  
\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 01:16 --  
TT: David.  
TT: Daaavid.  
TT: I have things i wishh to tell you.  
TG: hey  
TG: dont call me david  
TG: weve discussed this  
TG: call me dave  
TT: Daaaaaaaaaaaaav  
TT: -id  
TT: I'm drunk.  
TG: what  
TG: seriously  
TT: I hafe had a horrible evenning and I decided to raid my mother's rratherr extensive liquor cabinet.  
TT: I don't even wknow why reall,yly.  
TT: call it adolescenet curiousity  
TT: *adolescent  
TT: *cur...no, wait, I actually like the british spelling there.  
TT: I'm afraid my typing has taken a turn for the worse.  
TT: I had to backspacer a ;lot just then for that sentence.  
TT: *backspace  
TG: jesus  
TG: youre really angling for the after school special award there  
TG: just dont get teen pregnant okay  
TT: ha.  
TT: ha ha ha.  
TT: ha.  
TG: how much did you have to drink anyway  
TG: sounds like a lot  
TT: i hafve had...  
TT: half a martini.  
TT: Specificially half a gin martini with the dry fermouth  
TT: and eight olives  
TT: really there wasnt a lot of room for the liuoor  
TT: irnrestrospect  
TT: *in retrospect  
TG: hahahaha  
TG: oh my god you are such a lightweight  
TG: thats like what an eyedropper full of alcohol  
TT: the mebarbarassing part is  
TT: *embarassing  
TT: *embarrassing  
TT: it's mostly my typing that's affected.  
TT: I feel fline, really.  
TT: I think the liquor just goes tstraight to the fingers  
TT: It runs in the family.  
TT: Wait  
TT: Oh god.  
TT: I've tuned into my mother  
TT: *turned  
TG: what  
TG: do i make a milf joke here or  
TT: her tpying is even worse.  
TT: You shoudl have seen the letters she sent me the summr i went to sleedpway camp  
TT: *should  
TT: *fuck it  
TT: *no more asteriskss  
TG: wait she typed her letters to you  
TT: Yes. on foficial letterhead.  
TT: andf etamped with a wax seal.  
TG: okay thats actually kind of awesome  
TG: that sounds like some serious fifth-degree irony right there  
TT: all the degreees  
TT: all of them  
TT: She hass a doctoriate in irony  
TG: why the hell did you decide to get drunk  
TT: I told you.  
TT: curosisity.  
TT: also  
TT: I have been delzing with some serious emotional iussues tonight and  
TT: I guess it seemedl ike the suitably dramantic thing to do  
TT: Like in those horrible movies John is always talking about  
TT: i don't think ill be doing it again though  
TT: I feel nauseousus and I ve lost all the cordination in my fingersrs  
TT: but  
TT: The emotional issues are still front and center and crystal clear.  
TT: (i backpspaced a lot for thatt eone for dramantic effect can you tell)  
TG: what are you so worked up about  
TG: what went wrong  
TT: eVerytthing.  
TT: nothing.  
TT: I don't know.  
TT: Dave.  
TT: I feel like such a fake.  
TT: I worry. What if this is just ;layers and layers of trying to fool myself?  
TT: Whati fi t's just some sort of complicated g3ender-based détente?  
TG: how the fuck is it that you cant type and yet you can still add an accent to your fancy french word  
TT: I am the Unicode queen.  
TT: Regarder comme je taper tous ;les caractères accentués  
TT: chacun d'entre eux.,  
TT: après moi le déluge des caractères accentués  
TT: Sfrerious;ly though.  
TT: How do I know I haven't just latched onto this as an explanation and am trying to justifyg it?  
TT: What if I'm djust telling myself that this thing i feel is a valid gendere irdentitry and not some underlying neurosis?s  
TG: bull  
TG: if that were the case i dont think youd be as worked up about it  
TG: seriously  
TG: this is clearly something you care about  
TG: why the hell would you lie about that  
TG: whats the point  
TT: I don't know, validation?  
TT: I'm goingg to togo go with validation.  
TG: what like youre worried about doctors or something  
TT: P{erhaps.  
TG: no offense i know you like to fancy yourself as a therapist or whatever but seriously those guys are so clueless  
TG: we all lie to them  
TG: we all tell them what they want to hear  
TG: its just what you do  
TG: but thats not the same as lying to yourself  
TG: dont confuse the lies you feel the need to tell them with the lies you feel the need to tell yourself  
TT: and what lies exactly Do I tell myself?  
TG: i dunno  
TG: that theres such a thing as objective gender  
TG: that if you just read and research and question and examine yourself enough  
TG: you can prove yourself to anyone who might doubt you  
TG: which btw  
TG: includes you  
TG: because you seem to be doubting the hell out of yourself right now  
TG: thats person numero uno to prove yourself to  
TT: And what if I can't proved it?  
TT: what if I can't even answer to myself?  
TG: then youre probably asking the wrong questions  
TG: look  
TG: are you happier as a girl  
TT: Yes.  
TT: Oh god yes.  
TT: There is not enough yes in this keyboard.  
TT: But I'm not sure that's a valid reason.  
TG: are you kidding  
TG: as far as im concerned thats the only reason  
TG: anything else is just fancy words  
TG: granted  
TG: i know you love your fancy words  
TG: so maybe thats your problem  
TT: ...  
TT: I'm going to have to think about that.  
TG: also  
TG: your typing seems better  
TT: Yes. I thinkk the effects are wearing off.  
TT: Please remind me to never do that again.  
TG: can do  
TG: just call me mcgruff the crime dog  
TG: actually wait no  
TG: dont do that  
TG: dont ever do that  
TT: Too late.  
TT: From now on you will be forever emblazoneded in my mindd as McGruff Strider.  
TG: shit  
TG: so are you gonna be ok  
TT: I think so.  
TT: I'm going to try to get some sleep.  
TT: Thank you for letting me drunk type at you.  
TG: no problem  
TG: hell even drunk youre still more coherent than gg  
TT: Such a high bar you've set form e.  
TT: Good night.  
TG: night  
\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 01:54 --  



	11. For Your Sake and No One Else's

### Chapter 11

> I didn’t just have to come out to others. I had to come out to myself.
> 
> Oddly enough, the latter proved much more difficult than the former.
> 
> It was hard enough to put my trust in others, and harder still to see that trust betrayed. It was hard to take that risk and see it end so badly.
> 
> But it was hardest of all to trust myself.
> 
> **– Personal journal, volume 4.**

You awoke with what you could only conclude was a hangover the next morning. (Your first hangover! Your mother would be so proud.)

You were doing your best not to think too much about the events of the afternoon and night before. It was…not a particularly happy memory.

It was a school day. You weren’t sure what would be worse, feigning illness and staying home from school, or going to school while your mind was still in turmoil. Not that it hadn’t already been in turmoil this past while anyway, but you weren’t sure staying home and moping would be any better for your mental health. School at least was distracting enough that it’d keep you from dwelling on yesterday, but it would also increase the strain from your newfound gender awareness. No one there knew about you. You’d been very careful about that. And now it was starting to wear on you.

In the end, it was decided for you. You stayed in bed and considered the two possibilities in an endless loop until your mother finally checked on you and, mistaking your hangover for physical illness (or possibly merely pretending to), declared you unfit to go to school.

In a fit of over-enthusiasm she left you with a pile of medical supplies for every home-treatable malady imaginable, several days worth of canned chicken soup, and the numbers for three separate doctors. You watched in silent bemusement as she marched everything into your room, then left for work. You lay in bed and listened to the sound of the door slam and, somewhat harder to hear, the sounds of the garage door and her car. You continued to lie in bed for a long time after that.

You considered the ceiling. You weren’t really sure what to make of yourself. Everything hurt to think about. The vertiginous feelings from yesterday lingered. Perhaps they were a sign that you were on the cusp of something. You weren’t really sure what to make of that either.

The day passed in a blur. You eventually remembered to eat something. You watched the shadows move across your room as the day progressed, until eventually it grew dark and your mother returned home. You thought perhaps you should take a break from being broken. You tried reading, you tried watching a video. You couldn’t focus on them. Your brain was shouting at you too loudly. Maybe if it weren’t shouting so loudly you could actually make out what it was trying to say.

You slept fitfully, your dreams the sort of hollow, echoing, randomized experience that meant you weren’t fully asleep in the first place.

By chance, you had the next several days off as well due to a long school holiday weekend. The extended period of isolation and overall lack of distractions proved almost disastrous for you. Your mind kept gnawing at you. You stayed offline and focused on your thoughts, zooming slowly in on the problem at hand with a laser-like intensity, until, days later, the entirety of your being ached from the effort.

You found yourself staring at the ceiling again. You didn’t think you could proceed the way you had been any more. You’d reached some sort of emotional tipping point. You had to make some sort of decision. You’d put it off long enough, you’d delayed as long as you could - through denial, through research, and now into outright avoidance. You weren’t sure you were ready, but you also weren’t sure you were going to get any more ready than this.

It wasn’t the outside world telling you that you had to do this now. You considered that for a while. It seemed an important criteria. Most of your outside world didn’t even know, other than a handful of carefully-selected online friends, and they weren’t pushing the matter. That would have been easier to deal with. You could be very stubborn when you wanted to.

But no. You were being pushed from within. It was move, or be torn apart.

You stood up, wandered around your room aimlessly for a bit, and then, not entirely certain what you were doing, got out the headband from where you’d hidden it, picked it up, and stared at it for a while. Out of habit, you put it on, relishing the brief sense of comfort you derived from it. It was something you’d become accustomed to. It was your reminder to yourself, a gender performance put on for your own sake and no one else’s.

You turned and looked at the girl staring back at you in the mirror.

Could you just up and decide you must be trans one day? Could you really just do that? Without years and years of documentation? Could it be a thing that happened to you abruptly?

She looked back at you expectantly.

Yes, yes it could. Because you needed it to. What else could you do at this point? And who else could decide that for you, really?

Let them have their narratives. This one was yours.

Everything else was just details to be worked out, problems to be solved, fights to be fought. You’d sooner fight a hundred fights with the authorities than spend another minute fighting yourself.

You allowed yourself a brief smile at that. Bring it on.

You nodded smartly at the girl smiling back at you in the mirror, and sat down at your desk, pen and paper in hand.

It was time to start shaking up some expectations.


End file.
